


Bringing up Baby (dragons)

by shuns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby dragons are a handful, ChLuna?, Charlie is Cary Grant...but more burly and gingery, Chuna is that a thing?, Comedy, Dragon nicknames are literal, F/M, HEA, How about DragonMoon, Luna is Katherine Hepburn, Mild Sex Magic, Modern tibetian is good for spells, One-Shot, Riddikulus Fest, Sounds like something at Taco Bell, fluff...so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-17 19:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuns/pseuds/shuns
Summary: Charlie, Luna, an adorable cruppie, an articulated prosthetic dragon tail and a clutch of unexpected baby dragons.  OrBringing up Baby (dragons).





	1. The Set Up

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to HeartSandwich for betaing and lunalunemoon for alphaing. You are the best ladies to read with, comment on and write for. Also many thanks to the moderators of this fest. It was fun and well run. 
> 
> I love Charlie. I love Luna. But putting them together never occurred to me until I read olivieblake’s [Modern Romance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547009/chapters/30253302#workskin). So thanks HeartS for recommending it adding another 'ship to my armada. (Yes, I follow an armada of 'ships. Don’t judge.) 
> 
> HeartS and I agree that there needs to be more Charlie, more Luna, and more baby dragons. So here you are.

_Is this what you want?”_

Charlie slipped the ring over his fingertip. It was a lady's ring, and too small for him, of course. The opal glinted, catching fire in the rays of the setting sun.

_“We’re compatible, Alice. We have our work. You won’t get too upset about the burn marks on my clothes or if I stay out late with the dragons. And most importantly, you’ll live in Romania.”_

_“You're sure about this?”_

_“I want to keep working.” He pojnted to the dragon behind him. “How could I give this up? They need us, Alice.”_

_“Fine, give me a week to tie things up then I’ll return. We can do the bonding ritual then.”_

_“Honeymoon after?” He waggled his eyebrows at her._

_She scoffed, “The deal was no children or other domestic entanglements.” She gestured to the dragon. “This will be our baby.”_

Charlie put the ring in his pocket and sighed. That had been a depressing conversation. After a life of only occasional debauchery, it seemed unfair that that the Fates were going to award him a life of complete celibacy. The Ministry would _insist_ on a fidelity bond. But Vanya had been clear: no unmarried tamers or dragonologists on the Reserve. After Pansy Flint nee’ Parkinson had tried to pass her bastard off as the Flint heir, the good times were over.

Charlie walked toward town. It was quiet now; last year at this time the slagons were out in force.

 _Ah, the slagons_. Witches in short robes, with too much makeup and dangerous heels. Charlie had a scar from a particularly perilous pump that had been chucked at his head after breaking up a fight between two witches. They weren’t as bad a Fireball, but they were worse than a Short-Snout. The slagons had appeared like clockwork in the spring to take up residence at the spa for a week, or two - if they could afford it. Then it was good hunting.

It was Hermione’s fault. The Reserve was short on cash after the war with all the galleons floating toward the reconstruction of Hogwarts or the Ministry. The clever girl came up with _Men in Reserve, 1999,_ a calendar of the tamers on the Romanian Reserve. She sent her little friend Creevey to take the pictures, found a publisher, and just like that 200,000 galleons appeared. One afternoon prancing around without robes in front of a camera put new roofs on the tamer huts and added a junior wrangler position to the staff.

Bill would never let Charlie live it down. ‘Mr. July-with-too-little-to-get-by’ was his go-to insult. Charlie begged to differ. His caption ‘ _hung_ _like_ _a_ _hippogriff_ ’ was accurate, he had measured. Bill’s time was coming. Charlie still had the _Guys of Gringotts_ , the sad little affair the curse breakers had put together when the goblins were trying to drum up business one Yule. Someone thought, quite wrongly, that goblins and egg-head curse breakers in the buff would be as enticing as dragon tamers. It wasn’t, but Charlie had one of the few copies courtesy of George. It was prime blackmail material, and he was saving it for something special.

Each year the Reserve calendars provided a steady stream of galleons, a few years ago the lads started noticing more witches hanging about. It was nice to come down from the Accursed Mountains after the harsh winter and be greeted like a conquering hero. He signed breasts, did body shots, and buried himself in more willing witches than he ever thought possible.

Until  _Witch Weekly’s_ special ‘Where the Wizards Are’ came out two years ago. Then it went mental. Transylvania's Sibiu got high marks for the lovely spa, the magical energy, and the sexy tamers. He might be a fully certified dragonologists, but witches wanted tamers. He had scars from his early days and some excellent tattoos, so he played the part and was rewarded with lacy knickers, fruity drinks, and _so much pussy._

Hermione, though appalled by the behavior all around, found a way to profit from the influx of wanton witches. She negotiated for part of the tax collected from the hotel rooms to go to the Reserve. The girl knew how to mix business and pleasure, to bad she was such a stick in the mud.

But it had fallen apart in the last year, with The Heir Affair _._

 _Thanks_ ,  _Pansy_.

Sure, there had been a few babies born on the wrong side of the sheets. It hadn’t happened to him, but he knew some witches weren’t just looking for a spring fling. Pansy Parkinson had her bachelorette party in Sibiu. Her baby born nine months later was a little blond cherub who looked nothing like a Flint. _Not_ _enough_ _troll_. Someone let it slip she gotten pregnant in Romania before the wedding and was trying to pass off her bastard as the Flint heir. That was all the Ministry's morality police needed to step in. They threatened to pull their funding from the Reserve unless all the staff were married and used their influence with the Romanian Ministry to ensure compliance. _With mandatory fidelity vows._

For one or two weeks in the spring, witches loved it here, but life on the Reserve was long hours and hard living. Charlie had scrambled to find someone, _anyone_ , who would consider it. He reached out to the other reserves around the globe and that was how he’d met Alice Swallows MDr (Master Dragonologist). She was the best of the small group of female dragonologists that were unmarried and would consider moving to Romania. The next closest eligible witch was twenty years his senior and with only one good arm left.

It wasn’t like a beautiful witch who was a demon in bed and loved creatures - dragons especially - was going to fall into his lap here in the Middle-of-Nowhere, Romania. While he was at it, she should be able to speak dragon, make an amazing soufflé, and have an adorable dog. Oh, and the oral sex. _Can’t_ _forget_ _the_ _oral_ _sex_.

Charlie chuckled to himself as he walked to the apparition point to wait for Hermione’s very important donor. With the tamers tied up in marital bonds, fewer witches had visited this spring and the tax takings were paltry compared to previous years. It had happened at the worst time. Viable egg clutches and live hatchings had declined after the War. They needed more equipment and magical folk to keep them alive. Hermione had gotten herself into a lather the last time she had visited over the dragonlings. Charlie knew she worried too much, he couldn’t help but share her concern.

Hermione had been looking for a donor for some time, so when she had floo-called earlier in the week she was giddy to have found one with deep pockets. “One million galleons Charlie. Don’t mess it up.”

So he would meet with Scamander, purveyor of said deep pockets. He wasn’t sure if it was to be Newt or Rolf. He would take either, really. They were both legends of magizoology, and if they could help make up the shortfall of funds for the Reserve, they would be welcome.

His mind wandered back to the perfect woman. _Ha, she doesn’t exist, certainly not for me._ He would be married in a week anyway. Then it would be him and his five fingered girlfriend until death do them part, or he lost an arm. Charlie sighed. _The_ _Fates_ _were so_   _unkind_.

Charlie did not know that the Fates not only have a sense of irony, but they also like a bit of a challenge. 

* * *

Charlie stomped into the bar. He had waited for two hours for the poncy gits and neither had shown. With all the reports Hermione was asking for, sitting on his arse for two hours was time he didn’t have. But as he had already made the trek down the mountain, he convinced himself he might as well have a drink. _Perhaps a kiss too, not married, yet._

The bar whose name roughly translated to The Snuggly Dragon was long on grime and short on ambiance, but it was the only one that had weathered the slagon dry spell. Tonight, it was quiet, just a painfully blond couple probably on a tour, maybe a honeymoon eating pub food. The male looked Malfoy-esque but he couldn’t be arsed to verify. There was no one other than Talus tending bar for the couple and a small woman with a dreamy look, big blue eyes, and blonde hair in a messy bun secured by her wand.

“Then you _whhhhhpt_ and catch it in your mouth.” Talus’ party trick was to balance an olive on his hand then flip it into his mouth. The little blonde dutifully followed his example, but her olive bounced off her forehead and she laughed. “Good try, margareta. You catch on quick. But open your mouth wider.” Charlie smiled. _Margareta - moonflower._ Talus called all the slagons that. _Fair game then._

She was still wearing a smile when she turned toward Charlie. “Hello, did you enjoy your nap?”

After the first hour, Charlie had conjured a hat to draw over his eyes and napped. She had probably portkeyed in then. “It was so-so. Hey, you didn’t see anyone when you ported in did you? I was waiting for a bloke, a Newt or Rolf Scamander?”

She looked at him and blinked her huge eyes. She reached out for her drink and missed her mouth entirely, pouring some of it on herself. Charlie pulled out his handkerchief and transfigured a towel. “You should always have a towel. Miss...?”

She was quiet for a long moment then sighed, “Lovegood. Luna Lovegood.” She scrunched up her nose at him, considering. “And you are Charlie Weasley. But you really look like Ginny, did you know?”

“You know Ginny? No one has ever compared us before. Given that she is the second best looking Weasley, after me, I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment.” He gave her his panty-dropping smile.

Luna nodded. “Oh yes, Ginny is lovely. She always has the best socks.”

Charlie gestured to Talus for a drink and sat in the stool next to her. “Indeed she does. Mum loves making socks. Shall we drink to socks?”

And so they drank to socks. To dragons. To nargles. To whackspurts. To Harry Potter and dirigible plums, to edible underpants and all manner of increasingly ridiculous things. He didn’t remember when they started kissing, just that they were and that it was good. He had a question for her and he was quite certain that the answer was written inside her mouth. Or perhaps between those beautiful, soft thighs he had been touching.

At some point she had started drinking the local brew, a potent liqueur distilled from dirigible plums. The side effects were euphoria and mild floating. He didn’t have to pick her up so much as nudge her out the door. She waved wildly at the blond couple and blew them kisses. Charlie didn't wait for their reaction, he apparated them both to his hut.

She twirled in place and her clothes flew off. He was gawking at the useful bit of magic, then her body and all her pale, perfect skin when she hit him with the spell. _Sex magic._ He hated sex magic. It was used by witches and wizards that were either 1) bad at sex, or 2) kinky fuckers who needed enhancements (which, when you thought about it, were really just a subset of group 1).

Charlie was not a natural student. He had worked hard for everything he had with the scars to prove it. There were two things that Charlie knew: women and dragons. He had studied them.  _Oh how he had studied_. And he was good at sex. _Very_ , _very_ _good_. He took offense that this witch thought he would want or need to resort to sex magic.

As the enchantment took hold, he was flying. He looked down and realized he was high in the air. Not flying a broom, no, he was actually _flying._ With wings. And claws. And a great big tail. _Oh bloody hells, I’m a dragon._ But at that moment, he heard the trill of another dragon - a female, a damei - and she was just ahead. He could feel her fire scorch him as she rounded taunting him by flicking her tail. She dove below him, begging him to chase. He beat his wings to speed after her. He roared fiercely when he caught her clasped in his claws, then pumped his wings to hold them both still in the air as he crashed into her. He was consumed as she engulfed him. He trumpeted his triumph and she answered with a feral cry at his claiming. White hot dragon fire poured from his jaws and his magic erupted in pulses.

Charlie blinked. He wasn’t in the air. He was in bed in his hut. And it was on fire. The bed, the curtains, pretty much everything in the room that was not her or him was on fire. Hurtled back to reality, he was still buried balls deep in the little witch. One hand grasped her waist and the other was tangled in her hair as he thrust into her from behind. From the soft mews she made, she was coming down off her own orgasm. He pulled out with a hiss and she tumbled onto her stomach.

Pulling her wand from her hair, she made a few small swishes and softly sang, “ _Bsad.”_ He felt pressure and it was hard to breathe as the flames were smothered then extinguished.

“Little witch, what are you?” he asked.

Her eyes were closed as she hummed, “Mostly tired. Though perhaps you are wondering about the spell? I find that air magic is most compatible with modern Tibetan.” Sandy, blonde hair floated around her like a cloud and a smile tipped the corners of her lips. He laid down next to her, watching as she drifted off to sleep. It had been madness bringing her back here. But she would be gone by morning.

Sleep crept up with quiet paws and a warm furry body that nestled next to him, and he was out before he knew it.

* * *

He woke to a soft giggle. For a minute he was in the Burrow, certain one of his nieces would sneak in and pounce on him. He hadn’t heard breakfast being prepared, but something smelled burned. Mum had burned the bacon to a crisp. _Wait, Mum never burns the bacon._

Charlie’s eyes popped open. He tried to sit up but everything hurt like all the hells had been visited upon each and every muscle, sinew, and tendon in his body. The room spun and swam before him. He was going to need something very greasy to balance this out.

Then he heard it. The tiniest, smallest roars. The kind dragon hatchlings made when they had just broken their eggs. He looked to his right and saw a woman smudged with soot standing naked in front of his dresser. She had the most perfect arse. So perfect it almost distracted him from the small blue dragon sitting on her shoulder.

 _There’s a dragon on her shoulder._ _How did she get a dragon on her shoulder?_

He sprang from the bed. He spotted an orange dragon and a purple one, and finally, a pink one nestled in a piece of shell on his dresser. Well, the charred remains of his dresser that most recently had held the four eggs, a reminder of his failure. The four sterile eggs were a souvenir of his ill-fated attempt to cross one of the few remaining Opaleyes with a Welsh Green. It was the biggest clutch of eggs in the last five years, but none of them had hatched. They were all sterile. A wasted heat was not something they could afford with a dying breed.  

But it wasn’t a wasted heat. There were four perfect baby dragons with the iridescence of the Opaleye but the vibrancy of a Greenie. All of the perfect little dragonlings were climbing the naked girl or the dog standing on its hind legs to see the top of his dresser.  _Wait, whose dog is that?_

She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, not bothering to cover the rosy tipped breast. “Oh, good morning. George was insistent I meet his dragonlings before I woke you. I took the liberty of naming them. Shall I introduce you? This is Harry.” She gestured to the blue dragon on her shoulder. “This is Ginny.” She petted the orange one. “And here is Neville.” The purple. “This one who had a very hard time breaking her shell is Astoria, though we will call you Tory for short.”

“Which one is George?”

She gave him a blank look. “George is the crup. Well actually, I think he is a cruppier. Audrey said her crup went gallivanting through the neighborhood and came back in the family way from the terrier a few doors down. She named them after you. Well, not you, but your brothers and sister. I got George. He and Fred had to be separated because they caused so much trouble. George wanted Fred anyway. He needs a little Fred back in his life.”

Charlie blinked at her. He had followed only about half of what she said because he had never seen a woman, or any tamer for that matter, hold that many dragonlings and keep them calm. He moved toward her slowly and kept his voice low, “So they hatched?”

“Eggs usually do.”

Only these hadn’t. It was controversial when he bred the Opaleye with the Greenie. The Reserve was split down the middle, one half calling it revolutionary, and the other an abomination fit only for destruction. Dragons were never crossbred. Never. But no one could tell him why. He had looked through tomes, scrolls, and parchments but there was no reason cited why dragon species couldn't be bred to each other. It was so promising when she laid the clutch. But they were all sterile, so he had kept them on his dresser as a reminder not to gamble with the creatures he loved.

The blue one, Harry, eyed him warily as he came to stand next to her. “You have to put them down. You know nothing about dragons.” Ginny, the orange, hissed at him from the top of the girl’s head, what was her name? Mona? Lana? Luna? _That’s it, Luna. “_ Luna, who have the dragons seen?”

She nuzzled the purple one who let out a happy little huff. “Just George and I. Well, George first and me second, now you third. Order is important.”

Indeed it was. Dragonlings imprinted just like ducklings. Whenever they hatched they made sure to bring in tamers with opposite shifts so someone they had imprinted on was always awake. _Oh, Merlin’s saggy balls, she and the dog had imprinted._

“Uh, Luna. I’ll take these guys and you can clean up and head back to the village.” He spoke quietly and evenly so she wasn’t alarmed. No witch wanted to find out that she had magically bonded with a creature. If he could remove her and prevent any trauma (screaming, hexes, jinxes), he might be able to get them to re-imprint with him.  

She looked at him and smiled softly, “No, I don’t think I shall.” She grabbed Harry from her shoulder and Ginny from her head and lined them up on the dresser with the others. “Breakfast first? Then a visit with your dragonologist so we can count your teeth and have a check-up. Now, now Tory, do pay attention and don’t distract the others.” The little pink dragon puffed out a few pouty smoke rings. “Then back here for a story and a nap. Sound good? George, lead the way.”

Charlie was speechless, he watched her turn and walk out of the room with George and the line of dragonlings following. He was starting. Then he realized she was naked and _going out the door_. He whistled to stop her, “You might want these.” He tossed her her crumpled clothes.

She scrunched her nose and put them on, passing a wand over them to smooth out the wrinkles. The back of her shirt had been burned away, but she shrugged and put it on anyway.

“Try to lay low,” Charlie advised. “We don’t usually have visitors, especially witches. I need to talk to the director about _things._ But if you are just going to feed them and have them checked, it should be okay. For now.”

She nodded and waved her wand, creating shimmering bubbles that descended on the dragonlings. “We can’t have you catching cold.” She looked back a Charlie, “I wonder how they feel about hats and mittens.”

He was pretty sure they would burn them. Dragging on his own pair of pants, he couldnt stop shaking his head at the curious girl. It was a bit unnerving how calmly she had taken things. But it was unheard of to have no marks on her. Even baby dragons were dangerous and no wizard ever handled them without gloves. Yet they had climbed all over her and she didn’t have a scratch.

How did she do that?

* * *

“YOU WHAT?” The vein in Vanya’s forehead throbbed. Charlie could see it from where he was sitting, well out of range of the meaty fist that Vanya was opening and closing at present. He tended just to bang it on the table, but there was no reason to make it easy for him in case he decided to get violent.

Charlie took a breath and used his low voice, the one that bought him a thirty-second head start when Helga the Horntail was in a mood. “The eggs from the Welsh Green and Opaleye hatched. Then they imprinted with a civilian and her dog,” he crooned softly. By all the old gods, he hoped this worked.  

Vanya launched himself over the desk, grabbed Charlie by his shirt and shook, “HOW. DID. THIS. HAPPEN.”

 _Really_ _amazing_ _sex,_ was what he wanted to say. Instead he started to stammer something, anything, that would extinguish the combustible Romanian’s rage but he was saved by three sharp raps at the door. It cracked open. A striking head of silver grey hair poked in. “I’m looking for Vanya Căpreanu. Have I found him?”

Vanya looked up to the ceiling and sighed as he mumbled something about _“Gingers throwing boogers on his beans.”_ Charlie took offense to this particular Romanian idiom. He was not useless. Vanya released Charlie and cleared his throat, “You must be Peabody Greenglass. Solicitor of the Scamander Foundation?” The distinguished man with silver hair nodded. “Welcome to the Reserve. This is Charlie Weasley, Head of our breeding program.” Charlie nodded back. “I’m sure you have many questions. Not the least of which is how Wizard Weasley missed Scamander, yesterday. He will take you through our facility. I hope he won’t misplace a second person from your Foundation.” Charlie could almost hear the Romanian bastard thinking “Try making a whip out of that pile of shit.” _Ah, Romanians._

Charlie joined Greenglass at the door. “I’ll take you to our incubation room first. The largest portion of the donation would be used there.”

The tour had been going so well. Greenglass was making understanding noises in all the right places and even asked questions about the dragonlings. He hadn’t wanted to hold one. But it was probably for the best. They were a little bitey.

He rounded the corner of the fodder keep, forgetting he had banished the girl there and found her arguing with Gunther Pukin, the German dragonologist and resident killjoy. Heard before he saw, really. Gunther was at full volume. In an argument, he believed volume equated to winning. She still had that hazy, dreamy look and a soft smile. It almost made up for the three hissing dragons, one on each of her shoulders and the third in her hair. The fourth was riding George’s back and was shooting a small tongue of fire towards Gunther.  

“But you don’t know that they aren’t vegetarians, Wizard Pukin. Unless you give them the option, they can’t choose.” Her voice was light and had a musical lilt to it.

Gunther was unmoved. “No, it is known. All dragons eat meat. There is no choice.” He crossed his arms.

Charlie turned towards Greenglass. “One moment. I’ll be right back with you.”

He pushed open the door and closed it hurriedly. “Gunther, can you go tell the man with the silver hair about your nutrition program?” The German wizard would be happy to, in detail, and probably with conjured charts and graphs and much flapping of his arms.   

Charlie rounded on the girl. “I need you to go.”

She blinked, “Oh, of course. Shall I go back to your hut?”

“No, you should leave.”

She looked confused. “I’ll get my things. Is there anything I should take with me for the dragonlings?”

Gods help him with thick-headed witches. “No. They stay. With me. Here.”

She blinked at him for a moment, then slowly said, “I am their mother, well, probably father because they saw me second, so George is mummy. But we are a pair so we are staying. Besides, I like you. You’re nice.”

Charlie scrubbed his face. “Listen Luna. They are the property of the Reserve. They stay here. You need to leave. I think you are nice too. But I’m getting married in a week…” He wasn’t sure why he was telling her that. It had just popped out.

She bristled. Her face darkened and the shadows lengthened until it was almost feral. Her eyes seemed even larger. “They are not property. They are creatures. Creatures I am now bonded with. I am the air under their wings. They are the fire in my soul. I will not be separated from them. By you or anyone.”  She loomed over him for a moment, which was quite a trick since she was smaller than him.

Then she just deflated. “Married...you’re getting married? But you can’t… we were… it was… something…” She looked to him. Her eyes were shining now. She started blinking and a tear threatened to escape. She turned and grabbed cans from the shelf before stomping out the door. “Tuna for everyone. We will try celery tomorrow.” She stalked out of the room with her entourage in tow and as much dignity one can have when balancing six cans of tuna.

Charlie had to admit that he was mostly confused and a tiny bit turned on. Though that wasn’t new. He had been that way since he met this little witch. She wasn’t his usual kind of witch. He didn’t like them scary or weird, and she was both.

He took a moment to gather himself, but only a moment, before he went after her. ‘An angry witch is a howler waiting to happen,’ as Dad always said. Charlie passed Greenglass as he hurried to catch up to Luna. He shouted, “I’ll be with you in a minute, Wizard Greenglass.” It looked like Gunther was still telling him about his macrobiotics. Greenglass looked a bit ill. Gunther was enamoured with the gut. No one talked about poo as much as him. No one.

Poo was exactly what he thought when he saw Luna turn towards his hut. By the time he got there, his bed was on fire, again. Well, really more of a slow smoulder. There were glowing coals in the middle of it with the four dragons nestled on top. They laid flat with smoke curling from their nostrils, the picture of relaxation. It wasn’t something Charlie had ever seen any dragon do and it stopped him short.

“The coals are nice and roasty-toasty, yes? Would you like to hear about Goldywings and the Three Giants or Little Red Wingfoot?” There was a roar for the second. The witch spun Little Red Riding Hood into something the dragonlings seemed to like, if the roars and puffs were anything to go by.  

“And they lived happily ever after. Well, until the next day, which brought a whole new set of adventures. Now sleep my little loves.” Luna and George got up from the bed. But so did the dragonlings. They snapped, roared, and spat fire, throwing tiny dragon temper tantrums. George jumped back on the bed and barked at them, nudging them back toward the coals. There was a bit of a scuffle but they laid down again. George huffed and sniffed then jumped off the bed and walked out of the room.

“George, how did you do that?” asked Luna. They shared a long look as George’s forked tail wagged. “Oh, you clever boy. Will you stay here with the dragonlings? I have to go make something.”

She was out the door again. By the time Charlie had caught up with her, she had crossed the Reserve to the dry good stores. There, she took wire and fabric and transfigured what would best be described as a _contraption._

“Luna, we need to talk.”

She looked at him with those huge eyes that seemed to see right through him. “I would rather not talk. Though singing might be okay. Perhaps you could use hand signals? Though I really do need to concentrate and hand signals just now would be distracting.” The final flourish of her wand created a long green cone. It made jerky movements as she brought it to her bum and she fixed it there with a sticking charm. Well, he was pretty sure it was a sticking charm, though he had never heard that one before.

“Luna, what is that?”

“It’s a tail.”

“Why do you have a tail?”

“Emphasis and, I suspect, pronoun declension. And probably verb conjugation. You need a tail to do them all. Though really, it is an articulated tail apparatus. It’s not a real tail.”

He sighed, “I know it’s not a REAL tail. How will that _thing_ help you do all that? You don’t need a tail to talk.”

“You do if you want to talk to dragons. Though if you are talking to snakes its really more about the tongue.” She flicked her tongue in and out.

Charlie’s mind went blank as watched her pink mouth and red tongue. Then he was hit with a thousand images of what she could do with it. He caught the wall to regain his balance and coughed to cover his lapse. “You can’t talk to dragons. And Parseltongue is inherited.”

She looked at him like something had just gone wrong with his face. “No, parseltongue is phonetic. And of course, you can talk to dragons. I’m sure their poetry is quite lovely.”

“Their poetry? Dragons don’t have poetry. They breathe fire and have great, long claws and big, sharp teeth. You are going to get yourself killed if you walk into an enclosure with that contraption on. You’ll trip and fall.”

“Quite possibly, but it will make Tuesday much more interesting.”

He watched her leave, certain that conversation had not gone how he’d expected. Though, truth be told, he was finding that having expectations where Luna was concerned seemed quite irrational.

She poked her head back in, “Well, are you just going to stand there, or do you want to see if the dragonlings are up from their nap yet? I want to practice.”

Charlie spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening watching Luna roar, snarl, and snap as well as contort into all manner of positions trying to recreate the same tail movements of the dragonlings with her apparatus. He told himself he wasn’t oogling, it was research. Though George had been circled his heels and barking when he stared a bit to long.

That night as he laid on the cushioned floor of his charred room, he considered his day. It had been unexpected, confusing, frustrating, and now, uncomfortable. Luna had been adamant that the dragonlings should have the bed. “The Vântoase are female air spirits in this locale and they love to create mini dust storms. I don’t want them to make the dragonlings sneeze. Especially since today was Tuesday. I didn’t clean because it’s sacred to the Martolea, they’re like Romanian brownies, and they will jinx my underwear.”  

She laid down behind him and pressed her body against his, then wrapped her arm around his waist. _Why is she the big spoon?_ Her soft sighs as she drifted off to sleep were soothing. Even if dubious creatures of Romanian folklore obsessed with one day of the week caused them camp on the floor, he’d take it just to be cuddled by her.

* * *

Charlie awoke to a tongue caressing his ear. It was warm and wet. He could feel breathy pants ghosting across his skin. Smiling to himself, he remembered how right it felt to fall asleep next to Luna. _I_ _could_   _get_ _used_ _to_ _waking_ _up_ _this_ _way_. Then he felt the cold nose. He jerked awake and turned to see George staring at him.

“Good morning Charlie,” Luna sang as she bent down to pick up George. “Did you know Warty is sick?”

He sat up. And he stared. She was naked again. It had to be some sort of test. “Luna, not that I don’t enjoy looking at your body, but do you have any clothes?”

Luna looked down at herself then back up at him. “Oh, they melted.”

Charlie shook his head, this witch was truly mental. “Luna, surprise me. How did your clothes melt?”

She handed him a mug of coffee. “Warty threw up on them. Dragon vomit is caustic. He has been eating leaves, though I suspect what he really wants is cabbage. Or perhaps he is nervous? Performance anxiety can be quite crippling in humans, it must be terrible for dragons.”

Charlie signed, “Luna he does this every spring. He eats leaves. Gets sick. Vomits acid. Melts his enclosure. Tries to escape. We build it again. It’s not a fun job cleaning up after him, but there you go, the glamorous life of a dragon tamer. If it’s not boiling stomach acid, it’s scale rot, or wing atrophy, or the literal ton of dragon shit that needs to be shoveled out of their enclosures each week. Why should he be nervous? He’s a dragon. He can light anything that bothers him on fire.”

“But have you ever wondered why he does it? Why he eats the leaves?”

Charlie stopped. _No, I haven’t._

“I think eating the leaves is intentional. He kept saying hóvirág. I think it’s like a snowdrop, the plant. Maybe they remind him of his mother? Or perhaps an old girlfriend? His breed does mate in the spring.”

Warty was one of the few dragons that had not been born on the Reserve. He had been taken from the Carpathian Mountains, one of the last to be born in his actual habitat. Of course, he was also the worst dragon on the Reserve, having killed one wizard and disabled three others. “That’s surprisingly sweet for a real bastard of a dragon. But don’t get too attached,” Charlie remarked.

Luna’s face darkened and brow furrowed. “Ah yes, Gunther told me about the killing, or what do you call it, ‘harvesting.’ Right before I turned him into a coffee mug,” she said airly.

He held up his mug and she nodded. That was disgusting, he was drinking out of a transfigured German. She really did know how to ruin a good cup of coffee. “A bit excessive, don’t you think? Was that all he said?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, he still doesn’t believe me that dragons can be vegetarians. He laughed at me when I told him that Warty doesn’t want to eat another animal’s mother. He’s quite sensitive, you know, Warty not Gunther. He did not take kindly to the tone that Gunther used when discussing his reproduction problem either. I was offended on Warty’s behalf.”

“Luna, un-transfigure Gunther.” She pouted. “Luna, would you _please_ un-transfigure Gunther?”

She waved her wand and a very grumpy, very wet German appeared. “Bose Hexe!” he shouted at her, waving his wand. She smiled back at him just like the evil witch he accused her of being, but his rant was cut short by the dragonlings circling then diving toward his head. He ran screaming from the room with George nipping at his heels.

She looked at Charlie. “I’m going to make some cabbage rolls for Warty. I think farting might help clear the nargles. It does wonders for me.”

Later as Charlie walked toward the breeding enclosure for Warty’s assignation with Helga, he heard a loud exclamation and some tiny roars. He peeked around the corner he saw Luna hanging off the neck of the very proper and posh Solicitor Peabody Greenglass. He looked rather astonished, and it was hard to tell if it was due to the girl embracing him or the four dragons that were flying in a circle around him. _Wow, sustained flight already? That has to be a record._  

She pulled back from Greenglass. “Boopy! You found me. Now you have to tag me, so I can chase you.”

Charlie joined them and clearing his throat said, “Do you know each other?”

Greenglass, _Boopy,_ turned to him, smiling. “I dare say I do. Luna is Britain's, if not the world’s, foremost magizoologist. She helped Newt edit the most recent version of Fantastic Beasts. She discovered three new species that were included in the text. She even taught herself how to speak Parseltongue. It got her the Order of Merlin, Third Class.”

She gestured to her shoe. “That’s where I keep it. Very useful there. I just wish it was a little more buckley and a little less medally.”

“My dear, we really must talk. You need to come home now. We miss you. I just want to say...”

“Words. Words are nice. Not all of them of course. There are some words that aren’t welcome. Here. Now. Ever. Would you mind leaving them behind? I am going to take the dragonlings for their morning nap.” She rushed off.

Charlie looked at Greenglass. “Why do I get the feeling she is trying to avoid you?”

Greenglass watched the girl walk away, “With Luna, I have found you only need worry when she comes to find you, young wizard.”

* * *

Charlie had been dodging Luna for most of the morning. She seemed to be everywhere and always underfoot. It was a very important day. The waxing spring moon was ideal for conception so they tried to breed as many pairs as they could.

Warty was irascible on a good day and he hadn’t bred in the last two cycles. He and Helga had scratched each other up good last time. Losing an eye did nothing to improve Warty’s looks or mood. It was a sad fact, but Warty was more trouble than he was worth, and if he didn’t breed this cycle he would be harvested. Though considering how much those two dragons hated each other, they might not have to worry about harvesting Warty at all. Helga would take care of him.

Luna’s epithet was correct. Harvested was a nice way to say killed and turned into parts.  The dragon heart strings for wand cores. The scales and blood for potions. The skin for leather. Bones for extended transfiguration projects or ward talismans. All dragons were rendered at their death. Females were kept until they stopped breeding, but there were always too many males. To keep the peace and satisfy the demand for the goods, they would cull the draces, or male dragons. He didn’t have to like it but was part of the job.

Lost in his musings, he almost missed Luna entering the breeding pen with a new, even longer tail. A roar from the breeding enclosure made him break into a run. Inside he found chaos. The wards had held, but only just. Warty had a slash down his side and a broken wing. Helga was spitting fire. The three tamers were moving into capture position.  

Watching the action, he almost missed her. Luna walked towards the dragons, roaring and snarling as her tail flicked and curled. He shouted at her to stop, but she pointed her wand over her shoulder and silenced him.  

Both dragons were hissing and snapping at each other, but they turned towards Luna. They calmed and cocked their heads like they were listening. Charlie was sweating with the effort of trying to throw off her hex. Helga roared, stomping off to the corner. Warty let out a sad groan and flopped to the ground.  

With a final push, he broke through her silencing hex. “Luna, you daft bint. GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Once she was close enough to Warty’s prone form, she reached out and stroked his large brow. “She’s not his mate. She says he smells like cold coals and damp wood. He says he would rather ‘fuck a duck.’” She tsked, “Language, Warty. But I agree her attitude does dampen the mood. To say nothing of the hurt to your pride. But you shouldn’t have called her a ‘Can’t Fly’. You know the rules, no flying. And that’s why she broke your wing.” Warty groaned and feebly flapped his good wing.

Charlie blinked. Warty has responded to her. No fire. No biting. No roaring. Her insight almost made sense, a first in his conversations with Luna. “We’ve cycled all the Horntail females that were in heat. We even brought in a few other females from the Russian Reserve. We’ve run out of females.”

“He doesn’t want them. He wants Little Green.”

“What, the Welsh Common Green? She’s not his breed.” Charlie knew that too well. She was the cross he had made with the Opaleye. “They can’t, Luna, they will make sterile eggs,“ he finished softly.

She shook her head. “He says she is his mate. And you know that’s not true. What about Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Tory?”

Charlie considered. It was true. They eggs had hatched. “Say I was to do this, bring in his Little Green? Will he breed?”

She snapped and danced in front of Warty but he just huffed and looked away. “I fear this has killed ‘the mood’”. Helga glared at them from the corner and roared. Warty seemed ready to get up and go after her, but Luna broke his gaze. Turning to Charlie she said, “Helga made a rather rude comment about his size. I believe she called it ‘puny wizard-sized.’ He is also upset that you doubt his prowess.”

Blast, another wasted heat. “This isn’t bloody Valentine’s Day and I don’t care about ‘the mood’. Tamers Cartwright, Deville, Rescuea, restrain him. I’ll put the portkey on her.” It had been a stroke of genius to use portkeys to take the dragons from enclosure to enclosure. It halved the number of dragon escapes. 

With Helga gone, Warty let out a puff that, if Charlie didn’t know better, he would take for a chuckle. Luna looked at Warty hard. “Don’t be that way. I understand that the heart wants what it wants. But we can’t always get what we want,” she added wistfully looking toward Charlie. She moved to his wing and began a low chant. She was waving her arms in patterns and healing the damaged wing.

Charlie crept up behind her. “What does he want?”

“Normally I would say pecan brittle, because everyone loves pecan brittle, but in this case he wants space. To mate in the air.”

 _Now that is a terrible idea._ So many things could go wrong. People eaten, villages burnt, escaped dragons. _Why are you listening to her?_ _Or more importantly, why are you even considering this?_

She turned a serene gaze on him, examining him like a rather interesting bug. “You study these creatures but know nothing about them.”

Charlie took three breaths, in and out , in and out, in and out. He wasn’t going to strangle her, this incredibly infuriating woman who was questioning him about his dragons, creatures he had dedicated his life too. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

He turned to stalk off. She called after him. “By the way Charlie, do you know what the dragons call you?” He clenched his teeth. “The  _Red-One-That-Bellows._ ”

Charlie turned back toward her, stepping in close to loom over her. “Yeah, and what do they call you?”

She smiled. “They call me _Tasty Morsel._ I think it’s a term of endearment.”

He smirked. “You hope.”

 


	2. The Take Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot takes a hike, gets in trouble, goes to jail, then ends happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to HeartSandwich for betaing and lunalunemoon for alphaing. You are the best ladies to read with, comment on and write for.
> 
> Also thanks to the moderators of this fest. It was both fun and well run. Hat's off to you all.

He was surrounded by feathers, thousands of feathers, just floating in the air. _Wingardium Leviosa._ He was floating too. Then all the feathers started to flutter toward him. They were filling his mouth until he couldn’t breathe. He woke with a start. He wasn’t choking on feathers; small hands had pinched his nose and covered his mouth.

“Can you be quiet and helpful?” Luna asked. He nodded. “Oh good, I’m doing something quite rash, and I could use your assistance.”

“Luna where are we?”

“Green’s enclosure. Well, her name is actually Gwyrdd. It’s Welsh for green. Quite a pretty name. Though very hard to spell. How does anyone know if they have actually misspelled a word in Welsh?”

There was a soft hiss and click behind her. Welsh Greens didn’t click. Only Horntails did. “Oh Luna, you didn’t.” But she had. She smuggled Warty into the Welsh Green’s enclosure. “We need to take him out of here, now.”

She lit the tip of her wand. “Now that wouldn’t be helpful. Remember, quiet and helpful. I thought we could give them a little time together.”

The dragons were chasing each other like a pair of mad things. But they were bumping the walls and the ceiling. Luna looked at Charlie. “I have a thought.” She turned and snarled while gesticulating towards the ceiling. It mostly looked like she was having a hard time scratching her back. The two dragons bobbed their heads then bowed. She murmured, “Let’s just get rid of these walls then, _Gyang gyel shag,”_ sheslashed her wand through the air _._ He could feel the ward walls collapsing. With a sweep of their wings that knocked them off their feet and a crash through the roof, both dragons took flight into the night sky.

“GODRIC’S GUNNYSACK. LUNA WHY DID YOU DROP THE WARDS? This violates about, oh, I don’t know, twenty or so laws. Most of them part of the Statue of Secrecy. You and I will be locked up. For a long, long, looong time.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “We are only violating seven laws and two accords. But the laws are wrong. Helping two creatures in love is right. They promised that they wouldn’t go far.” She held out her hand to help him up. “Besides, the Aurors would have to catch us first. Shall I leave you behind with your scruples or do you want to help ensure their safety?”

* * *

Charlie banked the broom to left. The clouds parted and the moon shined brightly. He could see two dragons flying through the air. Gwyrdd trilled and Warty roared.

“Should we watch or give them privacy?” Luna wondered from behind him. Charlie was still mad and said nothing. Though he did enjoy the way her arms wound around his waist and her cheek against his shoulder.

The dragons were spinning in the air, twisting and twirling around each other. Charlie aimed the broom toward the ground. “We should set wards. I imagine he will want to make a bed of coals for her in the afters.”

There was a rush of air as Warty spewed fire, lighting up the forest. Then the two dragons, still clasped together, glided to the earth. Charlie and Luna landed on the ground and began casting. Luna waved her wand and used her hand to direct the updrafts and gusts. Charlie focused on keeping the fire constant. Eggs were temperamental; they needed just the right temperature. He watched where Gwyrdd moved, keeping the heat around her. Both dragons slumped down with necks crossed and wings folded.

The blonde appeared by his side with a soot-streaked face and a wide grin. Charlie rubbed her cheek. “We need to take them back by morning before they are missed.” She nodded and pointed over toward a tree with a brook trickling by. He felt better after cleaning his face.  

Luna’s eyes were shining. “Can you feel it? The magic coming off them? Maybe we should get a little closer.”

Charlie's hand caught her around the waist and he pulled her to his chest. “Or maybe you should stay right here. Out of the way of two dragons who are probably hungry after that _display.”_

“It really was something, wasn’t it?” she asked dreamily. Somehow in the day-to-day grind he forgot just how amazing dragons could be, but with her, through her, he was discovering them all over again. ”What did you see when we were together the first time?” she asked breathily.

“You mean when you used sex magic on me? Unnecessarily, I might add.” He was still sore about it. “Dragons. I dreamed of dragons.” He sank to the ground and patted a spot next to him. She folded into his side, wriggling until his arm came around her shoulders then wrapped her tail around their feet. She smelled like burnt sugar. It was all he could do not to bury his nose in the crook of her neck.

“Hm, I saw dragons too. I expected whackspurts, it's what I usually see. They are invisible to the naked eye, like zephyrs...”

Whatever else Luna would have said was lost as Charlie kissed her. He didn’t want to hear about what she saw when used sex magic with anyone else. Even if she was the most irritating, incomprehensible, and well, intelligent woman he had ever met, which was saying something as he regularly talked with Hermione Granger. She made absolutely no sense. None at all. But he couldn’t be arsed to care. Not when she sighed and smiled up at him with kiss swollen lips.

The warded fire flickered as Charlie loved Luna. He knew that too soon she would be gone with a piece of his heart and most of his patience, but he didn’t want to fight the need to touch her here, stroke her there, nuzzle this, suck on that, and most definitely, lick everything until she screamed, “Yes, Charlie, YES! Right there don't stop!” loud enough to roust some birds, which Warty promptly roasted and presented to his lady love as a snack.

He fell asleep lying on her stomach as she carded her fingers through his hair. Charlie was easy to please. A day without a new scar and a cold butterbeer was all he needed most days. But this right here, well, he could be happy for life.

That thought would be seriously put to the test over the next twenty-four hours, because Fate and her sisters are kind of bitches.

* * *

The chill woke Charlie. But the quiet made him break out in a sweat.  _It shouldn’t be this quiet_. He rolled away from Luna. The trees had burned to char and wind stirred the ash.

There were no dragons.

Charlie had to bend down and brace his arms on his thighs. _Godric's Gout Stones._ He was in the soup now. He would lose his job. He would go to Azkaban and his family would be paying fines forever.

Luna floated up beside him. “Bugger. They promised they wouldn’t do it.”

Charlie restrained himself from throttling her. “What wouldn’t they do, Luna? WHAT?”

She turned and walked away. “I’m going to look for them. Perhaps you should wait for them at the Reserve. You are attracting a bevy of blibbering humdingers right now and I need to focus.”

Charlie was torn. He should report back let them know about the breach, but the dragons, they were alone, this could go badly very quickly. Could he trust her when she had caused this problem in the first place? “No, we need to find them. When we do, we bring them back, and then you leave. Understood?”

He turned toward where she had been standing but she wasn’t there. “Luna, where are you?” he called, and he crashed through the underbrush intent on finding her.

* * *

Luna had always enjoyed hunting for magical creatures. After Mummy had died it was the only way to get Daddy's attention and make him smile. She missed Daddy, Rolf, Fred, Professor Lupin and of course Mummy. The dead were never really gone. She talked to them all the time. Her Sight was so distracting. She confused the living and dead regularly.

Then there were the Fates. They were another matter altogether.

But looking for dragons that was not difficult. She didn’t even need the ‘Point Me’ charm. She followed the smoldering forest to their location easily.

“Oh my.” She saw the dragons in the distance, perched on a pretty little castle. Though _perching_ wasn’t exactly what they were doing, she tried not to use coarse language. “I do hope the roof doesn’t give out,” she muttered as she disillusioned herself and approached the ornate door.

She stopped short as part of the roof failed due to repeated ... battering with a huge, dusty crash. A light on the second floor came on and the balcony door was thrown open. A very grumpy and sleep mussed Draco Malfoy swept out in a lovely dark blue dressing gown. She hoped he had matching slippers. It was hard to tell, but she imagined them just the same. “What in the bloody, blue blazes is HAPPENING ON MY ROOF?” he bellowed.

“Draco, be careful,” called a soft voice that Luna recognized.

She lifted her disillusionment and called up, “Hullo again, Astoria, Draco. I don’t know if you saw me at the Snuggly Dragon. Oh, felicitations on your nuptials. That said, I wouldn’t advise waving your wands around. Dragons can take it a bit personal if you curse them.”

A slim blond in a soft rose dressing gown appeared behind Draco. “Luna? My goodness, what are you doing here?” cried Astoria. “Did you say dragons? What _ARE_ you wearing?”

“Oh, nothing much, I’ve just come to collect them. They were doing something rather naughty on your roof, but I think they’re done now.” She turned to the side so she could show off her tail. “Do you like my tail. It’s excellent for getting my point across.”

Astoria was leaning on the balustrade chuckling. “Oh Luna, you haven’t changed. Draco, you’ve met Luna, haven’t you? She’s a friend of mine from school. We used to practice Charms together.”

Draco, who had been eyeing the dragons lounging on the now-collapsed roof, turned at the sound of his name. He was clearly startled to see Luna. “Oh, we’re old friends. I once stayed at his house for a while,” said Luna.

Draco paled and Astoria turned toward him with questions on the tip of her tongue, which Draco quickly nipped in the bud. “I imagine they have to see the tail to understand. Shall I take you to the roof?”

They clambered up a narrow staircase then out onto the battlement. Draco scowled at the damage. “Well, they certainly had their way with the roof. And I don’t even want to think what that is.” He pointed to the mysterious puddles among the wreckage. “I know for a fact it hasn’t rained.” He was quiet for a moment then cleared his throat, “Thank you for not telling Astoria how you knew me. I don’t want to upset her any more than I already have. It’s been hard for her, being with me. We had to come all the way to Bulgaria for a honeymoon. I couldn't book anything else.”

Luna nodded. “Marriage is good for those who are afraid to sleep alone at night. Besides, this is what she wanted. All she ever wanted in fact.”

“Luna, what _are_ you are talking about?”

Luna sighed. Wives were blind and husbands deaf and dumb. “You, being married to you. Having your baby.”

“No, Luna she can’t.” He paused and his shoulders sagged. “The blood curse, it’s killing her. A baby is too much to hope for. I can’t lose her, Luna,” he finished softly.

Luna turned toward the Parcae. Just like her spirit friends, the three Fates were always there. She couldn’t remember a time without them, whispering. Morta crouched over the thread with her shears and gave Luna a hard look. Apparently, it was not a day to test her patience. “Who are we to question the Fates? Love when you can, while you can, Draco.”

Luna conjured a golden rope and tried to lasso Gyrwwd and missed. Warty threw himself into the air with an ear-splitting roar. Gyrwwd snapped her jaws then joined him. “They aren’t happy about returning to the Reserve. Sorry about your roof.”

Draco sent a dismissive wave her way. “Oh, someone will hear about this.”

“If you happen to see a very grumpy, very loud redhead, send him after me. By the way, Scorpius is quite a lovely name. Consider it?” She jumped off the roof and floated to the ground, turned once to wave, then disappeared into the forest.

* * *

Charlie had followed the wake of destruction to a small castle with a collapsed roof and Malfoy. Well, Malfoys. His first instinct was to punch Draco in the face, especially when he threatened to call the Aurors, because of the loss of his deposit due to dragon damage. The dragons had had vigorous intercourse on the roof, collapsing a whole section and making a general mess of things. Charlie laughed when Malfoy insisted on compensation. “You weren’t burned to a crisp. How’s that for compensation?”

As Draco stomped inside towards the floo, Charlie legged it. He crashed through the forest until he was quite lost, again. He had been walking in circles for some time when he heard crunching and snarling ahead of him. He darted into the clearing and found Luna whipping through the air, ostensibly trying to pin Warty's slim neck to the ground. As the spiked tail sailed through the air toward her, he yelled, “Luna!” then pushed her out of the way.

They both rolled down a steep hill, bumping and bouncing the whole way down.  

“Ow,” he said at the bottom of what had surely been a mountain covered in nothing brambles, broken glass, and spikes from the feel of it. He said it again when she fell on him. “You aren’t as soft as I would like.”

“Neither are you.” She laughed as she sat up. “Perhaps next time I’ll try singing to instead of wrestling a dragon.”

He took a moment to pull the grass out of her hair. “What were you thinking? Taking on a Horntail? Of all the idiotic ideas…”

He wasn’t able to finish that thought as the  _stupefy_ hit him in the side. He saw Luna’s eyes go wide then he knew nothing.

* * *

Charlie had woken up in some pretty bad places with even worse people, but the thin mattress and the bars of the Reserve’s holding cell was a new low. It had been built for the rare occasion when they caught a smuggler. But mostly it was used for the tamers who were combative drunks to sleep off their excesses. It smelled worst then a dragon pen that hadn't been cleaned in a week. Nobody wanted to be in jail.

“Hello Charlie.”

With Luna.

“Could I pull off being a dragon rustler?”

His head throbbed as it had every moment since he woken up with her. “Luna now is not the time.” He groaned with the effort needed to sit up. “And this is definitely not the place. For your…”

“Flights of fancy? Non sequiturs? Jibes and Japes? I think I'll be Swinging Door Suzy this time.” She took down her hair and shook it out. She pinched her cheeks and lips, bringing the color back. Even though she was trouble, she was pretty trouble.

Vanya stormed in with Gunther. “There she is, I’m going to have you arrested for dragon rustling, dragged in front of the ICW and thrown into Nurmengard. It's not like Grindelwald is using it anymore.” He pointed a meaty finger at Charlie. “And you, you let this happen. You will be in a cell next to her.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, flat foot.” Luna’s voice had lost its lilting quality and taken on a hard edge, the flattened vowels made her sound like a petty criminal in Knockturn Alley. “Swinging Door Suzy will be out in a jiffy and there's nothing yous can do ta’ stop me.” She pushed her face against the bars and beckoned Vanya. “I’m willing to sing. Ya' let me outta here and I’ll spill the magic beans.”

Gunther huffed at Vanya and folded his arms across his chest, “I told you she was mad. Vegetarian dragons, ha. The bars make her tell the truth, ja.”

Luna was led her to a chair outside the cell.“Gotta a smoke?” Gunther insisted that a window be open, and Luna sat by it, slowly smoking her cigarette. “Me and my gang, Baby Dragons, we’ve been up to no good, see? Doing jobs all over. This one here at the Reserve was all easy like. That big red softy fell for my act like a niffler for plate silver.” Luna jerked her thumb in Charlie’s direction.

Luna spun a tale of deceit, debauchery, and despoiling so sordid that Charlie had to wonder just how much of it might be true. No one should ever be _that_ intimate with pixies. It was just wrong. Vanya and Gunther were eating it up, taking notes. Convinced they would get an Order of Merlin, they argued who should take credit for her capture. They didn’t notice Luna slip out the open window and disappear.

Charlie did.

For a moment he’d almost believed she was a dragon rustler. She had slipped into the persona so easily. But she wasn’t, was she? Charlie wondered just who Luna really was. She was certainly a gifted and brilliant witch. But what did he know of her, really? Charlie did not envy the Auror who had to take her in. He or she would be blithering by the end of it. He knew he was.

Vanya and Gunther yelped when they realized that she had gotten away. They ran to his cell. “Where is she?” bellowed Vanya. Charlie shrugged.

They were bickering about who was more at fault when Hermione Granger and his little brother Ron walked in.

“Who is responsible for this mess?” hissed Hermione.

Both Vanya and Gunther pointed to Charlie. The foreign wizards were well aware of Hermione’s wrath. Even if English was a second language for them, her jinxes and hexes got her point across.

“Charlie?” Hermione’s eyebrows threatened to merge with her hair. She rounded on Vanya, “Release him this instant, Vanya, or so help me I will replace your ears with your feet.”

“Bu-bu-but HE let a dragon rustler steal two of our dragons. It was him and Swinging Door Suzy.”

Hermione’s face fell. “Oh dear. Was Suzy a small blonde? Big eyes? Dreamy smile? Absolutely struggles to make any sense at all?”

“Yes,” replied Gunther, Vanya, and Charlie.

She bit her lip. “She hasn’t used that name in awhile. I am getting so tired of almost catching her only for her to slip away again. It’s maddening.”

“Almost like whackspurts,” snorted Ron.

Hermione rounded on him. “Not helping Ron,” she admonished. She turned to Charlie, “Where do you think she is now? We have to find her.”

Charlie shook his head, “Whatever these dolts have told you about Luna. Don’t believe them. She is the most brilliant, maddening woman I’ve ever met. She’s not a dragon rustler. This whole thing is a misunderstanding. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

Ron and Hermione gaped at him.  Hermione was the first to speak, “Dragon rustling? Luna would never rustle dragons, or any other creature, for that matter. She has an Order of Merlin.”

Ron, the git, put on his Auror voice, “Luna disappeared after her husband Rolf Scamander died. She inherited his estate and the publishing rights to Fantastic Beasts _._ She’s a proper heiress. Everyone has been looking for her. Greenglass reported he had seen her here. I was coming to collect her and take her home just as Hermione got word about the missing dragons.”

Hermione huffed, “As usual, Luna leaves a trail of chaos and destruction in her wake. I can’t imagine the amount of paperwork we will have to do. _Merlin’s hat_ this is going to be the house elves in the lingerie store all over again.”

Whatever further complaints Hermione wanted to voice were lost to a cacophony coming from outside. It was the combination of wind, dragon roars, barking, and someone singing at the top of her lungs.

_I can’t brew you anything but love, baby._

_My cauldron bubbles when it’s you I think of, ba-by_

_It's not a joke, no it's a curse._

_My luck is changing, it's going from_

_simply rotten to something worse..._

The door flew open and Luna walked with George and the baby dragons running after her. Warty was attempting to fit his head in as well. “Warty, you and Gwyrdd wait outside for now. No, I will not sing another encore, eight times is enough. I am quite cross with you both. Yes, I understand you are very sorry.” She turned back to Vanya, “So here we are all back in one piece safe and sound. Oh my…” Luna’s voice trailed off as she took in the additional company.

“Luna. We’ve missed you.” Hermione hugged her, then stood back. “Who are your friends?”

“Well, this is George and his dragonlings. They are a cross between an Opaleye and a Welsh Green,” explained Luna as Hermione gasped. “It turns out that there is a sympathetic sex magic between dragons and magical folk. The eggs that were considered sterile just needed some… help.”

“From sex magic?” squeaked Hermione

Luna hummed, lost in her own thoughts. “I wonder if it goes both ways? I probably should warn Draco and Astoria? Hmm, maybe best that it’s a surprise.”

Ron gaped, “Draco? You mean Malfoy?”

Luna turned toward the door, “On no, not Draco, I’m thinking of Scorpius.”

Ron and Hermione shared a confused glance. Hermione was the first to speak, “Luna it’s time to come home.” She reaches out to her.

Luna shook her head and turned away, “No. Home is where the heart is. After Rolf — well I guess I’m still looking for mine.” She had been inching toward the door when Charlie called out, “Going somewhere?”

She turned to him, smiled, then apperated away.

* * *

Charlie did not end up in Azkaban or Nurmengard. With the return of Warty and Gwyrdd, as well as Hermione’s timely obviation of Vanya and Gunther, the dragons' escape was forgotten.

Hermione had questioned Charlie at length about sex magic in the role of hatching. Ron’s ears had ended up redder than his hair. Then she dragged Ron away for ‘some tests’. Ron wasn’t keen to have his sex life used for a research project, but Hermione was very enthusiastic on the topic. So enthusiastic she, Ron and the dragons woke up most of the camp that night. 

Two days after Luna’s abrupt departure, Charlie should have been getting married. Instead, he was leaning into the floo explaining to Witch Swallows about his misadventures of the past week. She was sympathetic and not at all put out when he broke off their plans to marry. “She sounds like a most extraordinary witch. Do you think you might be able to _Gemino_ the tail? I would love to give ‘talking’ with my dragons a go.”

Charlie told her he would owl her a copied tail apparatus before closing the floo connection. He had tendered his resignation that morning. Vanya was surprised, Charlie had loved his job. But between the marriage requirement and the shortfall of funds on the Reserve, he couldn’t stay.

 _Who_ _am_ _I_ _kidding_? He was leaving because he wanted to find Luna.

He went Warty’s enclosure, well, Warty and Gwyrdd’s enclosure, now. His parting request was that they be together. They were his last goodbye before he was off. It was a surprise when he heard the roars of the adult dragons, the chirps of the dragonlings, and barking of George. He had left George and his brood in the hut. They shouldn’t have been able to get out. George didn’t know how to work doorknobs, yet.

Luna was standing there, naked except for her tail and a pair of wings. She turned toward him. “Oh, hullo Charlie. We were just discussing Higgland’s thesis regarding elemental magic. The wings are necessary for metaphorical constructs. Anyway, as I was saying, Higgland postulates each wizard or witch has an affinity to a single element: water, fire, air, or earth. A witch or wizard casts best when they work with their element. But what is really fascinating is that Delwar pointed out that dragons also have elemental magic. Which begs the question, are we related? What do you think?”

Charlie didn’t think. He ran toward the witch, swept her up into his arms, and into the air. Then he was kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her ears, any part of her he could get to. She laughed, “What’s that for?”

“For? It’s not _for_ anything. I missed you, you mad witch. Where are your clothes?” He pulled out his handkerchief and transfigured it into a gauzy rainbow-colored robe he thought she might like.

“Really? But weren’t you were getting married? Oh, this is quite nice.” She took the robe and put it on, arranging it around the wings and over the tail.

“Didn’t. I was planning on leaving to go look for you. Turns out that as much as I love dragons. I love ridiculous witches who wear enchanted dragon tails and break international laws to match make, more.”

Her eyes were as big as saucers. “Oh? You were going to look for me? Perhaps we should make a Luna trap. You could put all the things that I like in it and catch me.”

“What sort of things would I need to catch a Luna?”

“Hm, string, and cake with glitter icing. Periodicals. Wind chimes are nice. Shiny things too. Oh and olives work well.”

“What about a red-headed ex-dragonologist with scars and tattoos? Would that be good Luna bait?” Charlie’s hand palmed his pocket where he could feel the ring. It was as heavy as the question he wanted to ask her. 

Her smile was blinding. “Oh, that would be very good bait. Why, an ex-dragonolgist?”

He shrugged, “With the loss of Scamander’s donation, we need to make cuts. I volunteered to go.”

“Lost the donation? I just made it today. Vanya can’t be that careless.”

Charlie blinked. “Are you the Scamander I was supposed to meet at the portkey? Not Newt?” Luna nodded. “All this time I thought you were just a girl.” She snorted. “Okay, not _just_ a girl. But a magizoologist and an heiress.”

“I’m a publisher too. And I make a delightful orange chocolate souffle. Or so I’ve been told.”

Charlie laughed. His perfect woman did indeed exist. He would have to review her feelings on oral sex, vigorously.   

It seemed that the Fates had toyed with him enough, for now.

* * *

Epilogue

Hermione published a paper on symbiotic sex magic. Ron blushed during the entire presentation. But he stood proudly next to his very pregnant wife as the she posed for the _Daily Prophet._ The paper and subsequent media coverage sparked renewed interest in magical creatures and dragons especially. When Astoria Malfoy revealed she was pregnant due to the overspill of dragon bonding magic, the blasé euphemism for dragons shagging on the roof until it collapsed, interest soared. Hermione, sensing an opportunity, encouraged the Reserve to build a ‘Honeymoon Hut.’ Purebloods would do anything to get an heir, including roughing it in Romania. For the Wizarding World it led to a mini baby boom.

For Charlie and Luna, it led to twins.

But that is another story…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Hope you liked it. See you in the comment section?

**Author's Note:**

> JuweWright I felt sad that no one claimed your prompt "When dragons get the stomach bug, they throw up boiling acid. It's really not a fun job." It fit with my characters and direction so I thought I would claim it. I hope you don't mind the direction I took.


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